


acid/alkaline

by crankipli3r



Series: Who Kidnapped Markiplier? [5]
Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Crying, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Recovery, They love each other, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankipli3r/pseuds/crankipli3r
Summary: Ethan loves Mark more than anyone he’s ever loved before. And since helping him through this trauma is the only way to prove that right now, Ethan’s gonna do it.All the while pushing away the lingering fear in the back of his mind: 'If I can’t prove I can handle him at his worst, he won’t want me around when he’s back at his best.'------Mark's only been out of the hospital for a couple days. Ethan takes on the role of his caretaker, but fails to take care of himself. Eventually that catches up with him.





	acid/alkaline

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! me again. i thought the last fic was too happy and fluffy and sexy so i thought i'd brew up a nice old-fashioned dose of angst and hurt/comfort.
> 
> since this fic doesn't really require a whole lot of outside knowledge (besides knowing how long stitches usually stay in when they're in someone's chest), i didn't take that many liberties. i tagged drug mention bc oxycontin is mentioned as mark's prescription painkiller, and that mention is most of the reason i rated this mature. also, i tried to keep the continuity as even as possible and even read over part 1 a couple times to remind myself of some details. honestly i'm not quite as happy with this part as i have been with the others, but i still wanna post it.
> 
> so. hope you like <3
> 
> title still from "11 minutes" by halsey and yungblood. i'm running out of lyrics lmao. might mean i gotta start a new series soon........thoughts for another day.

"… No … n-no … _no! NO!”_

Ethan’s well-trained ears perk up the instant Mark raises his voice. He snaps out of his light sleep and flails around in bed for a few seconds before reaching over to switch on his bedside lamp. 

_ “NO NO NO STOP STOP IT —” _

He scrambles out of his bed and climbs onto Mark’s across the hotel room.  _ Fuck, not another one, _ he thinks despairingly as he kneels beside his injured friend. “Mark!” he calls, wondering if he should shake him awake or if that would hurt him worse. There’s tears streaming down Mark’s red cheeks and his face is pulled tight in an expression of pure terror and pain. He’s not thrashing too much, though, which gives Ethan enough space to grab his shoulders and jostle him a bit. “Mark, c’mon, wake up! Wake up, it’s a dream, you’re safe! Mark!”

After a long minute, Mark’s anguished cries finally grind to a halt, and he awakens from the nightmare with a violent start. From the way he’s panting and looking around the room with an unfocused, panicked gaze, Ethan knows he isn’t fully awake. He leans down and grabs Mark’s face in his own, turning it so their eyes can meet. 

“It’s not real,” Ethan says, drying Mark’s frightened tears with shaking thumbs. He stares into those petrified brown irises and waits for the spark of recognition to light in them. “You’re okay, I’m here, it’s just me, you’re okay, I promise.”

Mark blinks, then blinks again. The shroud of sleep finally lifts from his eyes and he stares up at Ethan like a parched shipwreck victim being offered a bottle of Fiji water. “E-Ethan?” he asks, voice hoarse and trembling. 

Ethan nods. “It’s me.” The unbridled horror lingering on Mark’s face is enough to break his heart a little. “You had another … another dream, but I’m here.”  _ I’m always here. _

Mark swallows hard, reaching up to grab one of Ethan’s wrists in a white-knuckled hold. “J-Just a dream?”

“Just a dream.” Ethan repeats the mantra the same way he has for the past two days. They’ve got a week left in Boston before Mark will be healed enough to fly back to L.A., and this hotel room has become a haven for him and Ethan. Mark hasn’t left it since he was discharged from Massachusetts General Hospital, which means Ethan pretty much hasn’t left it, either. This means lots of bandage changing, lots of MarioKart, and unfortunately, lots of nightmares Ethan’s been witness to. 

Thankfully, Ethan knows one sure-fire way to get Mark back to sleep after a nightmare: his painkillers. Glancing at the bedside clock, Ethan sees it’s already past three a.m. — Mark hasn’t taken his pills in almost seven hours now, which means it’s safe for another dose. They put him in a weird fog and make him uncharacteristically quiet, but they also keep him from writhing and whimpering in pain, so Ethan figures it’s a fair trade-off. 

“I’m gonna get up for a sec, okay, baby?” Ethan murmurs, carefully pulling his wrist out of Mark’s iron grip. The pet names are slowly becoming less foreign on his tongue. “Gonna go get your pills.”

Predictably, Mark’s face crumples and more tears spring to his eyes. “N-No, don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking as he reaches for Ethan. He tries to sit up but collapses back against his pillows with a pained gasp. “Don’t, where’re you going, please …”

“I’m just gonna run to the bathroom for five seconds,” Ethan says calmly. He’s been through this scenario three times already, but his heart still aches terribly at the look of fear and need on Mark’s tear-streaked face. As he stands up from the bed, he leans over and kisses Mark’s forehead. “I gotta grab your pills and some water for you, but I’ll be right back.”

Mark lets out a broken sob but nods, clenching his fists in the sheets still covering him from the chest down. He looks like a lost child, uncertain and insecure, and the bandages on his bare chest peeking out from the edge of the comforter only make it worse. Before he decides to just curl up in bed beside Mark for the rest of the night, Ethan turns away and hurries to the en suite.

As he’s plucking two oxycontin pills out of an orange bottle, Ethan yawns so wide his jaw pops. He’s barely had any sleep since they found Mark at that run-down house in the middle of nowhere — the vast majority of his energy has been spent caring for and worrying about Mark for almost two weeks. He glances up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and sighs, poking at the dark circles under his dull blue eyes.  _ Maybe you’re stretching yourself too thin, _ he thinks to himself.  _ Maybe you should take the other guys up on their offers to help. _

“E-Ethan?”

_ But you’re his boyfriend. This is your job, and he trusts you more than anyone. _ Ethan fills a plastic cup with cold water, splashes his face with some, and heads back to Mark’s bed.  _ You want him to be okay. This is the best way to make sure of that. _

“I’m right here,” Ethan says, setting the pills and water down on Mark’s bedside table. He carefully helps the older man sit up just a bit before handing him the meds. “These’ll put you right back to sleep.”

Mark takes the pills obediently, washing them down with the water. “Thanks,” he says, voice small. Blinking up at Ethan, he bites his lip and sniffles a bit. “‘M sorry for waking you up again.”

Ethan just shakes his head and switches the lamp off, lifting up the edge of the bedsheets to slip beneath them. “You didn’t,” he murmurs, realizing at once that Mark’s probably the most exhausted person in the whole hotel.  _ How dare you complain about being tired, even if it’s only in your head. _ “I was still awake, babe, it’s okay. I just wanna help you.”

Mark is silent. He carefully scoots sideways until he can rest his head against Ethan’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers again after a few minutes, words slurring.

“No need to thank me.” Ethan kisses the top of Mark’s head and winds their fingers together under the sheets. “Try to fall asleep again. I love you.”

Mark mumbles something like “love you too” before melting, bit by bit, against Ethan’s side. It takes about ten more minutes, but his breathing eventually evens out as he finally succumbs to sleep again.

Now the room is dark and silent — apart from Mark’s soft snuffling — and Ethan realizes he’s forgotten his phone beside his own bed.  _ Oh well, _ he muses, looking to his left to study Mark’s shadowy, relaxed face.  _ He’s much more interesting.  _ As wrung-out as Ethan is, he resolves to stay awake as long as he can to make sure Mark stays asleep. 

Running his fingers slowly through Mark’s soft hair a couple times, Ethan is reminded of just how close they came to losing him. Besides the gaping stab wound in his left side, Mark had also suffered something called a “T.I.A.” that Ethan still can’t quite pronounce correctly. The ethanol injections the Strahms had given Mark every hour during his captivity had not only done a number on his heart and brain, but the lack of blood and oxygen flow had slowed the healing process for his injuries. It’s a miracle he’s lying here beside Ethan, traumatized but alive. 

Ethan’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud gurgling sound. It takes a few seconds for him to realize it’s his stomach demanding food.  _ When was the last time you ate? _ he thinks to himself. Biting his lip, Ethan takes his hand away from Mark’s hair and carefully shifts towards the edge of the bed. He thinks he still has a stash of granola bars in his suitcase — 

“Nnno …” A soft whimper from Mark and Ethan goes stock still. Still asleep, Mark grips Ethan’s hand tighter and squirms to get closer to him. Ethan’s heart isn’t strong enough to resist. 

Ignoring his stomach’s protests, Ethan scoots back to Mark’s side and kisses his cheek. “Not going anywhere, baby,” he murmurs, tracing Mark’s knuckles with his thumb. “‘M right here.”

Mark’s face immediately smooths out as he slips back into a heavier sleep. Ethan sighs and closes his eyes, hoping they can both get at least four more hours of rest.  _ I’ll just eat in the morning. _

As he’s finally drifting off, Ethan distantly realizes he’d thought that yesterday, too.

 

* * *

 

It’s not like Ethan has a problem with being Mark’s caretaker. He really doesn’t. In fact, he knows if Mark’s mom and brother hadn’t had to fly back to Cincinnati a couple days before Mark had been discharged from the hospital, he probably would’ve let them take on that role instead. But being the new boyfriend — and the friend who’s been arguably the most anxious about Mark’s wellbeing — had led to Ethan “winning” this role. 

“I know how you are,” Mark had said on their first night in the hotel after the Incident. “You put so much effort into other people that you sometimes forget to take care of yourself. Promise me you won’t do that this time.”

His eyes had been big and anxious and Ethan had made the promise without thinking about it. It’s true — he forgets to sleep and eat regularly. Sometimes it’s because he stays up perfecting each frame of a new video, staring at his desktop monitor until his eyes are dry and bloodshot behind his glasses. Other times it’s because he’s not in the best headspace and makes himself too busy to remember what “self-care” and “rest” mean. And then there’s the times like this one, where a friend needs Ethan’s help and support, which means  _ his  _ needs get put on the backburner.

Ethan never consciously made the decision to be so …  _ reckless, _ really, with his own mental and physical health, but it happened anyway. And clearly Mark’s noticed. Which means Tyler, Bob, and Wade have probably noticed, too. They’d been pretty eager with their offers to help Ethan out with things like changing Mark’s bandages and watching him sleep, but Ethan had turned them down.

“He’s my boyfriend now,” he’d told them, protectiveness and love swelling in his chest. “He wants to spend time with you guys while he’s recovering, obviously, but I’m the one who should take care of him. Be there for him and support him as much as you can, just leave the ‘work’ part of it to me.”

And so, Ethan had accepted the fact that he’d have to be the one to wrap Mark’s bandages before he gets in the shower, help Mark get dressed, and calm Mark after horrific nightmares, among other things. Mark’s been more than grateful for everything, but when he insists he can do something he can’t just to give Ethan a break, that’s when Ethan gets testy. Someone with 40 stitches in their chest, tears in their pecs and abs, and a stab wound in their side shouldn’t be trying to cook themselves lunch or bend over to pull on socks!

Ethan loves Mark more than anyone he’s ever loved before. And since helping him through this trauma is the only way to prove that right now, Ethan’s gonna do it.

All the while pushing away the lingering fear in the back of his mind:  _ If I can’t prove I can handle him at his worst, he won’t want me around when he’s back at his best. _

It’s this fear that keeps Ethan startling awake every hour or so into the morning, convinced something’s happened to Mark. Every time he finds the older man still blissfully asleep beside him, hand still gripping Ethan’s firmly, and he relaxes enough to doze lightly again.

The alarm clock beside the bed finally goes off at 10 a.m., startling both of them awake. Mark jolts against Ethan’s side and squeezes his hand. “Mmph?”

“‘S okay, just the alarm.” Ethan reaches over to smack it and the obnoxious beeping stops. His arm feels heavy, like he’d slept on it wrong. Shaking it out a bit, he turns back to Mark’s drowsy eyes and smiles, small and sincere. “G’morning.”

“Morning,” Mark replies, smiling back. His voice is deep and velvety, like a double bass echoing in a concert hall. “Love you.” There’s some slurring in his words still, indicating the painkiller hasn’t worn off yet.  _ Must be why he looks so adorably dopey. _

“I love you too,” Ethan says, and his heart still skips a couple beats when he says it. This thing between them is still so new, but it already feels familiar and comfortable. Leaning in, he presses a gentle kiss to Mark’s lips.

Mark hums against Ethan’s mouth and squeezes his hand tighter. “Best way to wake up,” he whispers, hazy gaze fixed on Ethan’s face as he pulls back. “Sleep okay?”

“Of course,” Ethan lies as sincerely as he can. Truthfully, he feels like he could use another eight hours, but that’s not Mark’s problem to worry about. With one more chaste kiss, Ethan climbs out of the warm cocoon of sheets. “Lemme find you something to eat.” 

“Coulda stayed in bed for a few more minutes!” Mark says with a laugh as Ethan pads to the small kitchen. Ethan just shoots him a fond, exasperated look over his shoulder. 

As he rounds the corner and reaches the food stash on the kitchen counter, Ethan is hit by a sudden wave of dizziness. He sways and grabs onto the counter’s edge to steady himself, blinking the dark spots out of his vision.  _ What the fuck? _ His stomach growls louder than it had last night — this morning? — and he wraps an arm around himself.  _ Gotta eat something. _

To Ethan’s dismay, most of the snack boxes on the counter are empty. He finds only one substantial option as he breaks down the boxes: a pair of small Chewy granola bars. They’re only about four inches long and an inch across — one of them alone wouldn’t put a dent in Mark’s or Ethan’s hunger. 

Ignoring his stomach’s further protests, Ethan sighs and takes the granola bars back to the bed, handing them both to Mark. “Here ya go.”

Mark smiles up at him and accepts the snacks, slowly pushing himself up against the headboard with a couple winces. “Thanks.” As he unwraps one of them, he pauses. “Wait. Aren’t you gonna eat?”

_ You should’ve known he wouldn’t be stupid enough not to ask. _ “Oh, I ate one in the kitchen already,” Ethan says as he walks to his suitcase beside the other bed. “They’re kinda small, so I just scarfed it down.”

Mark must still have just enough oxy in his system to not register the nervous quaver in Ethan’s voice, because he just keeps eating without comment. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ethan picks out some clean clothes and heads to the bathroom. He makes a mental note to ask one of the guys to run out to a grocery store today and pick up some more food.

As if on cue, Ethan’s phone — which he’d grabbed from the nightstand without realizing it — buzzes in his hand. It’s a text from Tyler:  **_How is he doin?_ **

_ he’s doing fine. we just woke up and ate breakfast _

**_Cool cool. Just thought I’d ask since I heard screaming last night from across the hall_ **

_ yeah another nightmare……he’s told me he hates those the most out of everything. i stayed awake w him until he zonked out again _

**_You doing okay too? You looked kinda tired yesterday. You’re allowed to ask for help if u need it_ **

Ethan sighs, tugging on his jeans. His friends are too good for him.  _ yeah yeah dude i’m okay. not sleeping a lot but that’s just bc i’m worried about him. other than that i’m fine _

Tyler’s reply comes after a long pause.  **_Okay man if you say so…… Bob wade and I might come over for some mariokart later if u guys are up for it._ **

_ yeah dude totally! just give us like an hour or so to get ourselves together n then cmon over _

**_Sounds good. We’ll make sure to knock loudly in case u guys are smoochin :P_ **

_ SHUT UP >.< _

_ oh btw we’re out of breakfasty snacks could u run to like a walgreens or smth and pick some up for us? i’ll venmo you _

**_No problem_ **

While he’s washing his face a few minutes later, another wave of dizziness crashes over Ethan. He squeezes his eyes shut and sits down on the closed toilet lid with a thump, face still full of foam. The world feels like it’s tipping sharply to the left and he tucks his head between his spread knees, breathing deep an even.  _ Stay awake stay awake you’ll be able to eat soon —  _

The wave passes, but it leaves Ethan more worn out than the first one. Residual specks of darkness linger in his vision as he slowly stands back up and rinses off his face. Dull eyes, dark circles and pale skin are illuminated by the harsh lighting and greet him unapologetically when he glances up at the mirror.  _ You’re fine, _ he thinks, looking away. _ Stop being overdramatic. He still needs you. _

Ethan waits until he’s steady enough on his feet to seem normal before gathering up his dirty laundry and opening the bathroom door. He greets Mark with a smile, pleased to see his boyfriend up out of bed and buttoning a plaid shirt over his bandage-covered chest. Mark smiles crookedly back, dark hair mussed and face pink. He’s the most gorgeous thing Ethan’s ever seen.

“Everything okay in there?” Mark asks, shuffling over to grab Ethan in a loose but loving hug. “You took awhile.”

“I was just texting Tyler,” Ethan says, ignoring how distant his own voice sounds to his ears. “He and the guys wanna come over in an hour for some MarioKart. He also asked me how you’re doing — mother hen type, y’know.”

“Oh yeah, I know.” Mark pulls back and pecks Ethan on the cheek. “Did you tell him I’ve got the best boyfriend ever taking good care of me?”

Ethan can’t help but blush at the sheer adoration in Mark’s eyes when he says that. “S-Something along those lines,” he stammers, nuzzling Mark’s nose. “Anything hurt right now?”

“Mmm, not really. Don’t think the pills from last night have worn off completely yet.” Mark presses a careful hand to his chest, then his side, wincing. “As long as I don’t touch them or move too fast, I think they’ll be okay. Head’s kinda foggy, still.”

Ethan brushes some dark curls off Mark’s forehead. “That’ll go away soon. Go get cleaned up and I’ll set up the Switch.”

“Okay. See if you can find where we put  _ ARMS  _ — we haven’t played that in awhile and I miss my true love Twintelle.”

That earns Mark a playful swat on the arm, but he makes his way to the bathroom giggling like a menace anyway. Ethan slips on his glasses and his heart skips a few beats — usually Mark isn’t this chipper in the mornings anymore. Hopefully that means this will be an okay day.

That assumption turns out to be wrong.

As he’s locating all the Switch controllers around the TV in the small living room, Ethan still feels like his body is floating a few inches off the ground. He keeps his breathing as deep and even as he can, focusing hard on every simple movement he needs to execute: reach down, close fingers around controller, bend elbow, set controller on coffee table, let go of controller. A cold sweat is beading on his forehead and the spots in his vision have started swirling, but he pointedly ignores them.  _ Tyler’s gonna be here with food so soon. Just push through it until then. _

That line of thinking only works for so long. Ethan’s walking to the TV to make sure the cables for the console are plugged in properly when his leg brushes one of the controllers on the edge of the table. It falls to the carpet, and Ethan stops, bending down to pick it up.

He stands up straight and his head swims worse than it has all morning. Groaning softly, he closes his eyes and puts a hand to his head, stomach lurching as it growls. He waits for the dizziness to pass, but it lingers, getting worse with each fluttery heartbeat. It’s been awhile since Ethan’s fainted, but he knows it’s about to happen.

Swaying dangerously on his feet, Ethan calls in an echoey, detached voice he barely recognizes on his own, “Mark …”

The last thing he hears before his knees buckle is rapid footsteps rushing towards him.

 

* * *

 

Awakening is a slow process. The darkness is hard to shake off, but eventually Ethan does it. He registers a roaring headache before anything else, throbbing in time with his pulse, and he groans softly. 

Hearing comes next. There’s a shifting of fabric beside him, and someone calls his name softly. A cold, damp washcloth dabs at his forehead. “Mmmgh.”

“Ethan?” The voice is gentle, familiar, but laced with concern. “Can you open your eyes?”

His eyelids feel heavy as lead, but Ethan manages to flutter them open after a few seconds of concentration. Everything’s blurry at first; he blinks rapidly until the face looming over him comes into focus. “… Tyler?” Geez, his throat is dry.

“Yep, it’s me,” Tyler says, face pinched with worry. His smile seems forced as he reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a big bottle of red Gatorade. “Can you drink some of this?”

Ethan nods, still woozy. He reaches out with a trembling hand and takes the opened bottle from Tyler, gulping down half of it in one go. He’s handed an apple next, which he devours without a word. It’s the best apple he’s ever tasted.

By the time he’s fed and the Gatorade is gone, Ethan feels less like he’s just woken from a thousand-year nap. Licking his lips, he leans back against his pillow. “What happened?”

Tyler sighs, looking down at his lap. He’s sitting in one of the chairs from around the small dining table, wringing his hands a bit. “You passed out,” he says softly. “Probably from exhaustion and hunger, if the noise your stomach’s been making is any indication. You’ve been out for about twenty minutes.”

Ethan looks down at his own hands in his lap, ears burning. God, he’s such an idiot. Leave it to him to faint dramatically and stress everyone out. He hopes Mark didn’t — 

“Wait.” Ethan’s head snaps to the side, looking at the other bed. It’s empty, and Mark isn’t anywhere else in the room. He meets Tyler’s eyes, panic rising in his throat. “Where’s Mark?”

“Calm down, he’s okay,” Tyler soothes. He rests a steadying hand on Ethan’s arm and grips gently. Biting his lip, he says, “Mark’s in our room. He said … He said when you fainted, he carried you to the bed and tried to wake you up for a couple minutes. When you didn’t, he ran down the hall to our room and banged on our door. He was screaming … said he couldn’t feel your pulse, but we think that’s because of how freaked out he was. Then we noticed the blood.”

Ethan’s heart stops. “Blood?”

“He popped a few of his stitches when he picked you up,” Tyler explains, trying to keep his voice neutral. “He said he hurt all over. But he was hyperventilating, and hysterical, and eventually he worked himself up so much that he passed out too.”

_ “What?” _ Ethan’s stomach turns over and he shakes his head, pushing himself up and off the bed. Ignoring Tyler’s commands to lay back down and relax, he stumbles to the door and out into the hall. 

Panic overtakes him as soon as he reaches the right door. Pounding on it as hard as he can, he shouts, “Let me in, please, is he okay,  _ open the fucking door —  _ !”

It’s Bob who answers, looking at him with concern. “Ethan, are you — ”

Ethan tries to shove past him and get around the corner of the narrow hallway, but Bob blocks his path and grabs him. “Mark, is Mark okay, oh god, is he hurt, let me  _ go  _ —”

“Ethan, ssh, stop, c’mon.” Bob wraps his arms around the smaller man and holds him tight, trying to calm him with touch. “He’s okay, he’s just in pain and super woozy right now. Wade’s on the phone with Dr. Myers trying to decide if we need to bring him in. You gotta calm down or I’m gonna carry you back to your room.”

By now Ethan’s hyperventilating himself, tears of fear and guilt streaming down his cheeks. He buries his face in Bob’s shoulder and sobs, utterly exhausted. It’s the first time he’s let himself cry since Mark first woke up in the hospital and he lets out every ounce of anxiety and worry and blinding love in a sudden rush. It’s oddly cleansing. Bob holds him through it, rubbing his back, murmuring encouragements Ethan can’t decipher over the sound of his own rapid breathing.

At some point, Tyler arrives and slips past them quietly. Ethan’s crying has calmed down enough for him to hear when Tyler tells someone, “He’s here.”

Then Mark’s voice, tired and strained: “Was that him at the door? Is he okay?”

Ethan sniffles and slowly pulls away from Bob’s embrace. Slipping his fingers behind his glasses to dry his eyes, he clears his throat and looks up at the taller man. “I-I need to see him,” he says, voice hoarse. “Please?”

With a nod, Bob steps aside and lets Ethan pass. 

The sight that greets Ethan in the bedroom makes his heart sink with guilt. Mark’s lying on one of the room’s two queen beds, propped up by pillows against the headboard. His shirt is unbuttoned and he’s holding a disposable cold pack against his chest, no doubt for his sore muscles. What gets to Ethan the most, though, is the look on Mark’s face — he’s pale and anxious and his brown eyes are wide and damp, looking at Ethan like Ethan’s just come back from the dead.

Before Ethan can say anything, Mark asks, “When’s the last time you ate?”

Ethan bites his lip, looking away from Mark’s worried expression. He wants to lie again, to say he really did eat a granola bar this morning, but he knows Mark will see right through him now. His voice is small and ashamed when he says, “Um. Tyler just gave me an apple, b-but I think before that … at the hospital cafeteria before you were discharged.”

Mark looks like he’s been slapped when Ethan risks a glance up at him. “Three  _ days, _ Ethan?”

Ethan just wraps his arms around himself and nods. He feels like an idiot, a wimp, and a pathetic excuse for a boyfriend all wrapped in one sad, dysfunctional package. Still, he tries to explain. “I-I guess I got too caught up in — in making sure you had what you needed, that I … forgot.”

There’s a long silence after that. Ethan can hear Mark sniffling and choking back quiet sobs, but he doesn’t look up.  _ You ended up hurting him after all. _ He stares at his own socked feet on the off-white hotel carpet and wishes for a re-do of the past three days. No, the past two weeks — save everyone some grief.

“We offered to help you,” Tyler says softly from somewhere to Ethan’s left. “We  _ said _ you should ask us for help if you got too overwhelmed.”

“Why didn’t you?” Bob asks.

Ethan sighs and shakes his head, closing his eyes as his cheeks burn with shame. “It should be my job to —”

“No.” Mark’s soft, deep voice finally chimes in again, and Ethan peeks up at him. There’s tears trickling slowly down Mark’s cheeks and his jaw is clenched like he’s trying to stop crying. “That’s a bullshit reason and you knew it the first time you said it. What’s the real one?”

Ethan bites his lip and digs his fingernails into his own arms. When he sees the imploring expression on Tyler’s face, he knows he can’t avoid the question. So he takes a deep breath and answers.

“You’re you and I’m me, Mark,” he starts, biting back his own tears. “P-People look at you and they expect you to be with someone like, like Amy or Sean or even Felix. And even though I know you love me” —  _ at least you did before I pulled this dumb stunt _ — “I-I still feel kinda … inadequate. I’m seven years younger than you and I still get acne a-and you met me when I was a fucking  _ fanboy. _ And I kept thinking of that dumb saying, ‘if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t d-deserve me at my best,’ so I thought — I thought I could prove I was good enough for you by h-helping you through this as much as I can. Even … at my own expense.”

Ethan can tell his speech was like a punch in the gut for Mark. The older man is staring at him with heartbroken, disbelieving eyes, trembling with pain and barely stifled emotion. When he finally speaks, it’s not to tell Ethan off or yell at him. He just holds out an arm and says, “Come here.”

Fighting off the instinct to protest, Ethan shuffles over to the bed and sits against the headboard beside Mark. He folds his hands primly in his lap and avoids Mark’s eyes, but soon he’s being pulled closer and his head is resting on a strong shoulder. Mark tangles his hand in Ethan’s hair and starts to stroke soothingly, which only causes the tears in Ethan’s eyes to silently spill over.

Sniffling, Mark presses a kiss to Ethan’s forehead. “Y’know,” he murmurs, “there’s this thing called ‘putting your partner on a pedestal,’ and it never ends well. You were ‘good enough’ for me before all this fuckery happened, and you still are. I don’t wanna —”

Mark’s voice breaks, and Ethan looks up at him. His eyes are closed and he’s clenching his teeth, clearly trying to keep from sobbing. After a few seconds, he continues. “— I-I don’t wanna be in a relationship with you if it makes you self-destructive. I can’t watch you do that because of me. I l-love you more than anything but if being with me hurts you, I …”

Ethan’s heart has practically stopped beating. He barely notices Tyler and Bob leaving the room as he sits up and looks at Mark with wide, terrified eyes.  _ Don’t act so surprised, _ the serpentine voice in his head mocks. _ You knew this was coming. _ “W-What are you saying?”

“I’m saying if this is gonna work between us, y-you can’t fucking … put my needs so far ahead of your own that you forget to eat for  _ three fucking days.” _ Mark grabs one of Ethan’s hands and squeezes, staring up at him urgently. “I … I can’t believe I didn’t notice you weren’t okay. I’m sorry for waking you up with nightmares a-and being just a general burden right now, but mostly I’m sorry for not insisting hard enough that you needed help taking care of me.”

Ethan shakes his head and yanks his hand out of Mark’s to rest it on the side of his tear-streaked face. “No,” he says, heart aching with guilt but also relieved the breakup he was expecting didn’t come. “It’s not your responsibility to do that — I should’ve realized I needed help myself. I-I think it’s still gonna take awhile for me to, like … fully believe I’m good enough for you, but I promise I’ll never do something like this again.”

“Y-You can’t,” Mark chokes out, shaking his head and grasping Ethan’s hand again. “I-I can’t live with myself knowing you’re — knowing I’m making you neglect yourself.”

“You didn’t make me do anything. It was all my fault.” Ethan brushes a tentative kiss across Mark’s cheek, still sniffling. “I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

Mark pulls Ethan down into a loose embrace at a slightly awkward angle, but it still gets the point across. He’s trembling, clinging to Ethan like a lifeline. “W-When I saw you just … just  _ fall _ … I-I’ve never been so scared. Don’t  _ ever _ …”

“I won’t.” Ethan shifts a bit so he’s lying more comfortably against Mark’s side with Mark’s arm still wrapped around his waist. He bumps their noses together and sighs, brushing Mark’s tears away with a shaking hand. “I know how it feels to be helpless when the person you love is hurt. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I love you.” Mark kisses Ethan hard, sliding his hand up to the back of Ethan’s neck. It’s messy and tastes like tears, but it’s also hopeful and fiercely loving. “So fuckin’ much. Don’t — Don’t forget that.”

As he kisses back with just as much passion, Ethan swears he won’t.

 

———— 


End file.
